


The Last Time

by samchandler1986



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:43:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8870902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samchandler1986/pseuds/samchandler1986
Summary: Clara returns to the extraction chamber. She doesn't go alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly being very self indulgent in posting this. Not my usual kind of story. Essentially an oddly vivid dream I had, in which Clara and the Doctor had a hybrid child named Justice, who, for reasons not made clear by dream narrative, was required to be present at the moment of her reintegration with her timeline.

“You are expecting a hero’s welcome for her. Don’t.”

He sits, face impassive, on the other side of the shuttle. She could read him, I’m sure. Recognise the tightness of his jaw, the particular set of today’s scowl. His face is an open book, to her. But not to me. He looks cross; he _always_ looks cross.

“Why?”

“It’s not their way.”

Them, again. That, at least, I have learned to listen for; the switching between we and they. “What will they do?”

He shrugs. “Arrest her. Maybe all of us. And then return her to the timeline.”

“And then she…” My voice cracks.

“Then she’ll die,” he finishes, and for the first time I hear the catch in his voice.

“And we can’t stop it?”

“No,” she says lightly, entering from the cockpit. “Fixed point. We’re being bought into dock by port security systems.”

I can feel it, the shakiness of the shuttle breaking atmosphere. The sharp banking, computer controlled for safety and efficiency, with rather less regard for passenger comfort.

She is watching me, eyes kind. We’ve talked about this moment, so many times. Now it is finally here it all feels so dreamlike. An inevitability. Like the tug of gravity, the weight of sadness on a soul.

“I’m okay,” I feel compelled to lie.

“No, you’re not. But you will be.” And for a second her eyes meet his; an unspoken promise. He inclines his head almost imperceptibly. I wonder if I’ll ever learn to read him as well as she does, or if he will always remain something of a mystery.

The shuttle lands and we step down together, flanking her. Solemnly she presents her hands to the waiting security. They bind her wordlessly and we all fall into step with her, unhurried. She is still in control, somehow, despite all the trappings of their power.

She remains impassive until we step into a small lift that will take us to the lower levels. Then she turns to me, still no trace of fear in her eyes. Just a sadness that makes me want to wail and gnash my teeth. Fight the guards and end this living nightmare _right_ now—

His hand on my shoulder steadies me. Her mouth turns up at the corners, just a little, seeing that. Another look I cannot translate, something profound and utterly alien to me, passing invisible between them.  

And then her eyes are on mine. “Justice,” she says softly. “I love you _so_ very much.”

I cannot find the reply, grasping reflexively for her hand instead, squeezing tight as sobs threaten to boil out of my chest. She squeezes back, tightly, and I think of the thousands of times that hand has been my comfort. As soldiers intent on my death have searched a hair’s breadth from us. As Dalek’s have swept past intent on extermination; Cybermen and Angels all. The idea that it will no longer be there is unbearable.

The hand on my shoulder squeezes tighter. And he understands, I realise. He has been here before. _But you cheated!_ I want to shout. She took his memories from him, this pain was _never_ his to bear.

But that isn’t right either, the frustratingly reasonable part of my mind argues. This pain was his for four and a half billion years, as he broke himself over and over and over trying to save her. I think I finally understand why.

And if the Doctor could not save her, what hope for Justice?

We have arrived in the extraction chamber at last, curiously clinical and not fitting at all for this moment. “Miss Oswald,” says a technician, indicating where she should stand, and she actually smiles at that.

“Oswald,” she says. “I never did like that name.” She squeezes my fingers again, one last time. I find it hard to let go because I know what it means when her hand leaves mine, that I will never ever again know this comfort. And it’s too much, the cold left by her absence as she moves to her assigned space, I want to scream and scream—

His fingers fold around mine instead. And this too, is dimly familiar. I remember his visits when I was a child, that sense of wonder when we would step outside of his TARDIS. And some of the feeling in my chest subsides, just enough to continue breathing, as the tears start to fall.

There is a flickering light playing behind her that slowly balloons in size. Like a flickering moving lantern image of a strange world that suddenly runs up to speed. A street. The Doctor, facing the invisible us, unseeing in the past.

And her, back when she was human, walking in slow motion towards _herself_. “Let me brave,” whisper both Claras, in unison. Her eyes are on us, _both_ of us, shining with pride, as time catches up. Her past shadow steps _inside_ her present moment and the raven strikes her in the chest.  


End file.
